It’s been a good season for NSW’s floral emblem. The terrible fires of 2019-20 put some species of waratahs under threat. Others, subject to fires of lesser intensity, have regrown from the massive underground lignotubers, up to half a tonne in weight, that allow them to regenerate after a burn. 2021 was the first year when botanists predicted a big flush of flowers – and it happened between August and October this year. And people were out in the bush to appreciate them, thanks to the east coast lockdowns which meant that one of the few activities people could legally and safely do was bushwalk. Appreciate them and sadly, steal them. The floristry industry grows its own waratahs but last year so many flowers went missing thanks to visitors to national parks close to suburbia that rangers took to daubing the flowers with blue paint. Around my way there is much proprietorial concern about the local waratahs. Pictures of flowers and advice on walks to take to see them appeared on the local facebook group and there was much angst about stolen blooms. If the flowers are picked, waratas don’t produce seedpods. The high carb content of waratah seeds, making them a tasty snack for critters means its pretty unlikely they’ll find a spot so well hidden that they get a chance to grow anyway, but if the flower is sitting in a vase on someone’s sideboard, that’s certainly not going to happen.
The flowering season is over now, but waratahs are still hot property as far as the local birdlife is concerned.
Over the summer, I’ve been wandering regularly down to a nearby creek (perhaps rivulet is a better word) to spy on LBBs. Under the twisted limbs of the angophoras, the little birds frolic through waist-high shrubs, and nest in the stands of saplings along the creek edge. It’s a little bit magical. I’ve been lured along that path by a bold grey strike thrush, who hopped along in front of me the whole way; watched the variegated fairywren blokes get hassle from their female companions; been serenaded by golden whistlers and caught one of the ubiquitous new holland honeyeaters sipping nectar from a mountain devil. Not to mention regular encounters with the local dragons.
A particular spot where the path crosses the creek has been my go-to since late last year, when I spent an hour watching a parade of little birds quarrelling over bathing rights in the shallows. It was so delightful I keep going back hoping for more.
So a couple of weeks ago, to stretch my legs after a day staring at screens, I headed down there. I spotted the construction in the waratah bush right away. A nest – exciting in itself, but there was movement. A live one!
New Holland honeyeater peeping at the photographer
New holland honeyeater snug in a nest
This new holland honeyeater seemed so at home, rummaging around in the bottom of the nest, and then sitting in the classic “bird in a nest” position, I assumed I’d met the author of this structure. But, apparently not.
I would love to hear the inner monologue of this red browed finch.
The finch took a pit stop in another branch of the waratah to recover itself.
Honeyeater in denial.
I was distracted by a passing dollarbird, and by the time I looked back things were looking very different.
Once the nest was reclaimed, the finch and its partner kept on with the nest building.
A few days later, I went back to check out this waterfront property after the builders were done. No signs of the pair of finches. Perhaps they were tucked up inside? I hope they hadn’t miscalculated in picking this nest site, so close to a footpath.
What was this honeyeater interloper was up to? While brood parasites like koels and channel billed cuckoos (obviously) lay eggs in other birds’ nests, to the best of my knowledge stealing a nest from another bird isn’t a common thing, at least amongst smaller birds – although, dear reader, I’d be happy to be corrected on this. My favourite example of nest reuse (more accurately “protective nesting) is the story of various little birds – sparrows, swallows and starlings – finding spots to lay their eggs in the 3 metre pile of sticks that ospreys accumulate as they return to the same nest over the years. The raptors and their squatters seemed to breed happily side by side, with the insect eaters snaffling critters attracted to the rotting fish corpses in the osprey nest, using osprey feathers for nest lining and getting some protection from predators by cohabiting with great big raptors.
Nonetheless, even reusing your own nest from a previous season’s nest has some downsides. They often get a bit nasty, hoaching with fleas and other ectoparasites. Predators also get to know the location. Things are different when nest sites are hard to come by – hollows are often reused again and again – and there’s evidence of the same cliff side peregrine scrape in Tasmania being used for 13 thousand years.
If he wasn’t trying to steal the nest, perhaps the honeyeater was lost?? The red-browed finches’ nest at the time he popped by was a similar shape to the cupped nests that honeyeaters make. They’re fidgety birds that look like they have a short attention span but it seems a little bit unlikely.
